Superstition

I’m the last person you would expect

I have a Ph.D., yet I am superstitious. Not in the way typically meant by that. I have a mostly black cat. I break mirrors all the time because I am preternaturally clumsy, and I have opened umbrellas in the house. And whistled past graveyards, just for fun. So I’m not superstitious in the traditional way.

I am superstitious in terms of curses. If something bad happens to me, especially in screwing up my work or writing life, it must be a curse, and the bad things will keep happening until I break the curse.

Breaking the curse

There’s only one problem with my superstitions: I don’t know how to break a curse. First, I imagine no specific person cursing me; I think it’s probably fate who has it in for me. (This is so irrational it embarrasses me). How can I break a curse with that sort of provenance?

I sincerely think I can, however, if I could figure out how. My superstition includes not magic, but symbolic psychology indistinguishable from sympathetic magic (because I have a Ph.D., of course).

When I write this down, the rational side of me cringes. I mean really cringes. But that’s the flip side of the problem — this is something I’m probably doing to myself subconsciously. My belief that I am failing might cause me to avoid what I need to do to succeed — at least that’s the psychological explanation; I’ve already admitted I’m superstitious). So who is cursing me? Me.

Time for me to do some ritual to reclaim at least as much luck as other people have. I don’t want to be too lucky, because good luck attracts bad influences.

I told you I was superstitious.